Night Extra

“I sympathize with them,” Bry said. He still looked pleasant, but his smile was cautious now. “I’m one of that cheerless group myself, let me remind you.”

“Yes, of course. Now when you realize that a change of location might be desirable — you tell the Authority, is that right?”

“That’s correct.”

“You say, in effect, this one’s a bust, let’s try somewhere else.”

“I can assure you we don’t go about this job in a spirit of comedy.”

“Well, how do you tell them they’ve made an expensive mistake?”

Bry put his pipe aside and took a quick pull on his drink. “There’s no set formula. I just outline the reasons for making a change, and suggest an alternative site for the committee’s study.”

“Which committee is that?”

“Pardon me, I meant chairman. He and his staff then make the decision.”

“Mayor Ticknor is the chairman of the Parking Authority, I believe?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“If a change is made, it’s made on your say-so, right?”

“Well, that’s a flattering way to put it. Let me freshen that drink.”

“No, thanks. How many changes have been made?”

“I don’t know right off — I could have my secretary send you the information tomorrow.”

“Would you like to guess?”

Bry picked up his pipe again and began filling it. “Let me see — eight, nine perhaps. Something like that.”

Terrell was silent for a few seconds, watching Bry fiddle with his pipe. He had trouble lighting it, and finally put it down again with a little sigh of exasperation.

“What happens to a piece of clear property when you decide to move on elsewhere?”

“That’s not my province.” Bry seemed relieved at the turn of the conversation. “The Authority handles that.”

“You don’t know who buys it? Or what’s paid for it?”

“No, I must say I don’t.”

“Are you curious? Even a little bit?”

“I’m curious about the line of your questions.” Bry stood up abruptly. “I’ve had enough of your intimations and hints. Speak plainly, if you can.”

“All right,” Terrell said. “There’s a peculiar aroma about the Parking Authority. You may be the best architect since Christopher Wren, but you’re also a cog in what looks like the greatest swindle since Teapot Dome.”

“That’s enough,” Bry said in a stiff, angry voice. “I won’t stand for being called a liar and a thief in my own home.”

“Do you think it would sound better in court?”

Bry’s face was pale with anger. “That’s a grossly irresponsible charge, Mr. Terrell.”

“Perhaps it is,” Terrell picked up his hat, and draped his coat over his arm. “I don’t have the right to make judgments on you or your work. And I apologize for that. But it’s within my province to ask the questions I have. You and I are on the same side, I hope. And if that’s true, some of my questions should make you reassess your relationship with the Authority with a very critical eye. Don’t you agree?”

“We’re always open to suggestions for improvement,” Bry said. “We welcome public interest. It’s one of our concerns, as a matter of fact, that the public doesn’t give a damn — that we can’t rouse them to a healthy pitch of interest in what we’re doing.”

“Well, they may be having a good long look at the Authority pretty soon. Take it easy now, and thanks for the drink.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Bry followed him to the door and watched Terrell go down the gravelled walk. Terrell waved at him as he started his car, and Bry’s hand fluttered limply up from his side. He looked oddly disturbed, a tall, pale and somehow incongruous figure against the placid beauty of his elegant home.

Terrell didn’t bother returning to his desk. He went to his apartment, made himself a mild drink, and then called the paper and asked for the real estate editor, an Englishman named Kidner.

When Kidner answered Terrell he told him he wanted a rough estimate on a home in Shoreham.

“How large a plot?”

“Two or three acres.”

“Forget it, old chap. Tell the bride you can’t stand the country life. You can’t stand the expense in any case. Those little spots cost. from forty up, and that’s just the start of it. Taxes are bloody high, and you’d need a staff — no, it’s not for us, old boy.”

“It’s pretty lush then?”

“Indeed it is. Seriously now, I don’t think the houses are worth it. But if one lives out there, one isn’t shopping for bargains, is one?”

“One isn’t,” Terrell said. “Thanks very much.”

“Not at all.”

Terrell finished his drink and looked out over the city, trying to figure out Everett Bry. Was he a naive dreamer, lending his professional support unknowingly to the Authority’s swindle? Or was he in on the take? The house in Shoreham indicated the latter.

Terrell made himself a bacon and egg sandwich and drank a glass of milk. Then he put the coffee on and while it percolated, he showered and shaved, then sat down in a robe to wait for eight o’clock. It was seven forty-five; in fifteen minutes he could call Duggan. To pass the time he put on a stack of Irish records, drank a cup of coffee, and smoked several cigarettes.

At eight sharp he dialled Duggan’s home. The phone rang twice, then Duggan answered it. “Who’s this?”

“Terrell. Well?”